Kodachrome
by Gamemakers
Summary: Venia lived her life in color.


_Orange_

"Tell her that ready or not, in five minutes, I'm leaving." Venia doesn't know if that's leave for the party or for his wife, but she hurries upstairs to where Mommy primps at her vanity, her orange gown sewn from the most beautiful silk. Little girls aren't to touch, but Mommy's enforcement's never as strict as Daddy's rules, so she reaches out and repeats Daddy's ultimatum.

"He wouldn't dare leave tonight," she replies. "Help me choose my ribbons." She gestures to the rainbow before her. Venia hesitates, but orange's the natural choice. "They're beautiful. You have an eye for color."

 _Green_

"That's quite the design you've got there." The artist sounds genuinely impressed, and the six-year-old can't help but puff out her chest and smile wider.

"That's my girl for you. She's a born stylist if there ever was one. Made that all by herself one afternoon she did." Daddy's praise is even more welcome. Every night until the tattoo fades away, she stands in front of the mirror and admires the beautiful green butterfly that adorns her face. It hurt when the needle bit her skin, of course, but even fools know that beauty is more than worth any discomfort.

 _Pink_

Tonight, though she is one of many debutantes, Venia feels that she is the star. The cotton candy-colored champagne she sips is as sweet and alluring as the eyes she makes at the dozens of handsome young men. A hand rests on her waist.

"Enjoying yourself?" her father asks.

She throws her arms around him. "Oh, Daddy, it's perfect!" His other daughter had a party all her own for her sixteenth, but that doesn't matter now. "Come on, dance with me." She smiles as she twirls, and for tonight, she doesn't care that her gown is her half-sister's cast off.

 _Black_

They won't even lay him to rest in peace. To his real family, the funeral is just another chance to play dress up, and this time, the theme is black. Black silk, black ribbons, black pearls, he'll be rolling in his grave before sundown. She hates all of it, all of _them_. Venia glares from behind her simple veil at her father's wife and two children. They are seated four rows ahead of her, so she doubts they notice the gesture, but she needs to for Daddy. Today more than ever, they could have at least pretended to love him.

 _Grey_

They have to move out of their old apartment; Mother can't afford it without Daddy's money. The tenement buildings that the rich Capitolites hide far away from their sprawling mansions have no trace of the colors she loves so much. Everything here fades to grey. She cannot stay here, for asking her to flourish without color is akin to asking a flower to grow without sunlight. A box of crayons still lies in her desk drawer, and with its contents, she brings back a hint of light with her sketches. Stylists are chosen by merit. Perhaps dreams can come true.

 _Brown_

She nearly trips over her heels as she runs to the mailbox. As she has every day for the last two weeks, Venia wishes herself luck as she pulls open the door. _Finally._ The modest brown envelope might as well be made of gold for all it means to her. She takes a couple of deep breaths before ripping it open with shaking fingers. "The Crestone School of Art and Design is pleased to offer you…" She wipes away a tear before she screams, "Mom! Mom, I got in!"

Academic probation, surely, is nothing she needs to worry about now.

 _Blue_

"The real stylists all have trademarks, and these will be mine." Venia winces as her friend moves the tattoo gun over her own arm, vines blossoming from the needle's point. "You should get one too." She wipes a few drops of blood off her arm and offers Venia the gun.

"Yes, but I don't think immediately after drinking is the best time to make that decision." Still, she sits up that night, thinking of a hundred possibilities that could make her special, and she rises with the sun the next morning to hunt for the perfect shade of aqua dye.

 _Purple_

"You have three hours. Ready? Begin."

 _Purple passion._ What kind of a theme was that? She scrambles towards the fuchsia and violet bolts of fabric, hoping she'll be able to piece something together.

The panel of professors finds fault with nearly every aspect of her design. She has no future here. Venia cries herself to sleep that night, trying not to think of what the disappointment will do to her poor mother. Before she has to confess her failure, a letter from a professor arrives.

 _Your eyebrows were excellent. I have an old friend who's looking for a prep worker._

 _Yellow_

Oh, those costumes are hideous. Venia wonders how this woman got through the design academy when she could not. Skimpy yellow vests and loose-fitting hard hats do not an outfit make. Still, she lacks the diploma that would give her opinion any weight in their eyes, so she keeps quiet, as she always does. It's not as though Twelve is going to win anyway. Just as she has for the last fifteen years, Venia does her best to make them beautiful, wishes her tributes the best of luck, and cries when she watches them turn from child to corpse.

 _Red_

This one is special; she's known it from the moment the girl volunteered. The new stylist sees it too. Cinna's brilliant, and his designs are even more so. With him by her side, Katniss Everdeen might just stand a chance.

 _Oh,_ she's not seen anything like _that_ before. The interview dress by itself was lovely, but those flames do add a certain something. Venia rips her eyes away to see its effect on the others. Katniss and her flames have already entranced the live audience, and Venia's certain the rest of Panem isn't far behind. This girl is something special indeed.


End file.
